


Sharp bones and beams of light

by ArthurFlecksGirl



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Mental Illness, POV First Person, Points of View
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:56:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24404668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArthurFlecksGirl/pseuds/ArthurFlecksGirl
Summary: This piece is my version of the scene when Arthur sits alone in the corner at Haha`s and Randall hands him the gun. From Arthurs point of view.
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/You
Kudos: 6





	Sharp bones and beams of light

A pale light is falling through the window, filling only the corner of the room. Its not enough light to make the darkness vanish or less demanding. Golden beams kissing my left shoulder bone as if they wanted to point out my weakest spot.  
Its is the same as it is in reality. Or what I call reality. I can never be sure of that. What I call reality might not be true to others. Thats what I have learned through the years and it was a tough road to take.   
There was always this beam of light coming from the center of my heart, trying to shine through the only thing people saw when they were looking at me. Heavy darkness. The light was too little, too dim to make them notice. Although to me it felt like a sharp beam coming out of my chest, aching for love and acceptence.  
And just as the sunlight hitting my fragile shoulders, the light within me almost felt like my weak spot. It made me vulnerable to others. And they felt it. That light was waiting to be loved, to be held in someones arms. Someone to place kisses across the lines along my sharp bones. Make them soft. Make me soft.  
But people know when you are vulnerable and they will use it against you.  
On real bad days I was convinced it would have been better to suffocate that golden shimmer for its best. Maybe it would be liberating to allow the darkness to compleately take me in. To become one with the blackness that everyone was seeing in me.  
To proof them they were right about me.   
That I was nothing more than that.  
Its what they want.  
People love it when you proof them that they were right about you all the time.  
No matter how you feel about it.  
It never matters.  
They only cae about their own opinions.  
No one thinks about what its like to be someone else.  
If youère different, you`re wrong.  
And if your mind doesnt work the way theirs do, you`re worthless.  
Your point of view is worthless. Because it might differ.  
Because you cannot proof anything.  
Its just you and your own thoughts.  
The only conversation you will ever have.  
The only comfort.  
Your greatest enemy.  
You just stit there in the dark with the light hitting you and you are not even sure anymore if you deserve that gentle glimmer upon your aching skin.  
The sun won`t reach the parts of my back that hurt the most.  
They`re hidden. Maybe for no one to see.  
But I have to feel them.  
The bruises on my right shoulder blade, making every move painful for me.  
Blue. Feeling blue.  
Owning a body is a chore.  
Maybe I would be happier without one.  
This body will never be loved anyway.  
Its just sitting there, holding that isolated soul within.   
Like a cave.  
Thats why I´m screaming.  
Let me out.  
Let me out of this cave of flesh and aching bones.  
Sometimes after I get beaten up, which happens a lot, I just wish they would have beaten me to death.  
It would spare me walking up these stairs again. Coming home to my mother. Facing another day, another night.  
I`m not sure about how long I can do this anymore.  
Not all alone.  
Not without a lover, a friend, a hand to hold.  
Someone to talk to.  
I try to stretch my shoes.  
They`re way too tight for me. Just like my body.  
Those shoes wrap around my feet like snake skin that has been gotten too tight. Even though my feet are not very big and my ankles are incredibly small.  
Just like my own skin. It became too tight to live in. It contricts me.   
Maybe thats why my bones are sticking out like crazy. This body is just too tight to contain a heavy soul like mine. There is no room for so many thoughts and nightmares anymore.  
They have to run free.  
The more I try to make these shoes fit the more my back starts to ache.  
I put the shows down and sigh.  
Whispers from the corner of the room. Laughter,  
I almost forgot I am not the only one in this room. i usually do because people ignore me. Even here at work. I come here everyday, its always the same group of people and they still talk to each other on the make up table and in front of the mirror like it is the most natural thing in the world to leave me sitting there by myself.  
I won`t get their jokes anyway. I`m sue I would laugh at the wrong line or something. And they would say "Why are you even a clown when you dont know what an punchline is?" And that would hurt even more than the bruises on my shoulders ever could.  
I take a breath. Not as deep as I should. i should take a deep one. But I feeel like I can`t. There is not enough air left for me. It feels like my workmates sucked all the air out of Ha-Has`s . So there is nothing left for me anymore. They want me to suffocate. I just feel it. they want me dead.  
Randall entes the room "Whats up ladies?"  
"Hey Randall, whats up?" the others ask him.  
"Another day in chuckletown" he replies as he hangs his clown suit on his locker. His locker is not far from mine so he has to stand right next to me. He would have never come to me if his locker wasnt there. he trows his stuff on the bench I sit on.  
"You okay?"  
As if he really wants to know....  
No one ever asks me if I am okay. Not even my mother. All she cares about is Thomas Wayne. And all that Randall cares about is making fun of others. Especially me and Gary.  
Do I look like I am okay to you? I really feel the urge to ask him that but i remain silent. Like always. I`m not very good at words. They`re in my head all the time. But they won`t come out the right way. Not like I want them to come out. And if they do, people missunderstand me. So I just let it be most of the time.  
"I`ve heard about the beatdown you took. Fucking savages."  
I ill sttry to stretch my shoes as he opens his locker and manages his stuff.  
"it was just a bunch of kids. I should have left it alone"  
I dont want them to know how horrible it was. That I was lying there on the concreate. My lungs aching from trying to get some air after they kicked me so hard I almost fainted.  
"No" Randall says "They take everythign from you if you do that. All the crazy shit out there....they`re animals".  
I´m almost about to grin. Acting like you actually care, Randall,huh? I know you`re not a friend of mine. I do not have any friends if it I had some it surely wouldnt be you.  
He is looking at me in a weird way. I dont look at him but I can feel it. I almost feel it when people look at me in a creepy way he does right now. I feel his eyes on me and I dont like it.  
"You knwo what?" i keep ignoring him like he always ignored me. I dont even know why is is talking to me all of the sudden. Something must be wrong.  
He walks up to me and I don`t have a choice but to look at him. He`s a big guy. I look like a kid compared to him. I was always a little bit intimidated by his presence.  
"Here" he whispers. handing me a brown paper bag.  
"What is it?" I ask him.  
"Take it" he says with a low voice "Its for you".  
I take the bag and open it. A gun. A fucking gun. Seriously?  
I cant help but chuckle at the whole situation. I feel strange even holding a bag with a gun in it. I cant imagin taking it out and touching the surface of it. Holding it in my hand... I dont think I could do that. I`m not thetype of guy that would walk around Gotham with a gun in his pocket. And I shouldnt have one anyway. My medication makes me unstable at times, makes me lose all sense of reality. having a gun wouldnt be a good idea at all. But still...its kinda funny. And I´m kinda curious to hold it in my hands. Just ait afraif it might feel way too good.  
"Otherwise you`re gonna get fucked" he adds.  
"Randall....I slightly lean towards him, whispering so the others won`t notice what was going on "I`m not supposed to have a gun..."  
Despite my aching back I try to sit up straight and look him in the eyes to make my point clear. I really shouldnt own that kinda thing. But the words come out of my mouth differently. It sounds like a shy whisper only. Not very convincing.  
"Don`t sweat it, Art. no one has to know..."  
I feel my lips forming to a smile.  
"And you can pay me back some other time..."  
The light from the window hits Randalls face in a way that creeps me out. Like it wants to point out something. Like it KNOWS. Mora than I know.  
"You know you`re my boy...." he says. His voice sends shivers down my sharp spine. I dont know how to feel so I chuckle.  
A chuckle could mean anything. At least in my case.  
I have a bad feeling about this.  
But on the other hand...Maybe owning a gun would not be as bad after all.  
I feel the weight of the weapon through the paper bag.  
Maybe its just like light and dark.  
Maybe this gun will protect me after all.  
And maybe, just maybe I will pay him back some other time....


End file.
